Twenty Six Candles
by no2benry
Summary: Betty is now twenty-six years old, and the fun is just beginning...DxB all the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Obligatory disclaimer: ABC and Silvio own all. Nothing's mine except Travis Perdon. Oh, you'll see who I mean.**

**A/N: Well, this is kind of about Betty's twenty-sixth birthday, but not really. That blessed event actually just happens to be where the story begins. Beware, it's kind of smutty, hence the rating, but it's also kind of sweet, too. Enjoy!...hopefully.**

Betty shivered as she felt an icy-cold breeze hit her bare skin.

One eye peeled open, then both eyes got really wide open, really damn fast as she saw Daniel standing stark naked on the veranda overlooking the mountains.

Betty moved to sit up and winced happily at the soreness. Yep, last night had been a good night, the result of what happened if Daniel Meade went without sex for more than a week. They really had been very busy, what with handing _Elle_'s knockoff couture-clad asses to them on a silver platter; all the couple had had time for was a quick kiss in the morning and an even quicker grope session in the shower.

But today was Betty's twenty-sixth birthday, and Daniel had swept her away to the Alps to give her the first view of mountains she'd ever had. The scenery was gorgeous, breathtaking, and majestic, _and_, she inwardly admitted while trying to tear her eyes away from her boyfriend's perfect ass, _the mountains weren't too shabby, either_.

Padding barefoot out the glass sliding doors, Betty wrapped her arms around Daniel's waist and trailed kisses down his back of pale, white, silky marble.

"Hey, birthday girl," he laughed, his voice still husky from sleep. "I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to wake you up." He turned in her embrace and returned it with one of his own.

"Twenty-six years old. God, you're still an embryo in pumps. Makes me feel kind of pervy whenever I think about it." His wolfish grin grew wider as he bent to whisper in her ear. "And I think about it a lot."

Betty couldn't quite bring herself to rebuke his rakishness. She tilted her head back and smiled a smile of pure birthday bliss. "Lovely sentiment, but you do realize you're mooning this side of the mountain."

"Damn, I should've charged admission." Eyeing her sheet-clad form, he felt his body responding to the hazy memory of last night. True, they had both been buzzed on champagne, but he knew that things had gotten nothing short of medieval in bed. And on the floor. And on the nightstand. And the deck.

He touched her face in concern. "Hey, you okay? I didn't…I wasn't too…"

Betty stilled his words with a finger to his lips, which he captured and began to suck on; still, his eyes never left hers. He was genuinely worried he'd hurt her during sex.

"No, sweetheart, I'm fine. Better than fine," she hastened to reassure him, and it was true. That, and she was still basking in the glow of being able to make her own demands during sex and being asked if she was alright afterwards.

This was new to her. Walter had never cared, Henry had, if anything, been too gentle, even when she politely and demurely requested that he step it up a bit, and Gio took the notion of sex as a matter of course when in a relationship and treated it as such. Not that it'd been bad, really, but it had felt more like another step in his five-year plan than love-making to be savored.

But Daniel. Oh, God, Daniel. He did know women, and rather than let the fact intimidate her, Betty considered it something to benefit her. All those other girls were just practice runs. Betty was the one who got to reap the benefits.

She squealed as the man in question slung her over his shoulder and curtly swatted her ass when she protested. "We have three hours before the chopper gets here. I still haven't given you you're birthday spanking. But if you'd prefer me to do it out here on the veranda where any paparazzo with a zoom lens can get the money shot, be my guest. God knows I've been filmed doing worse in public."

"Despot," she laughed breathlessly as he stepped inside and lowered her onto the bed.

"Oh, you wouldn't have it any other way." She lifted her hips and he tugged the sheet swiftly from around her waist like a magician doing the remove-the-table-cloth-without-breaking-the-plates trick.

Although Betty had a big ripped chunk of muscular man on top of her, she had never felt safer. She knew that she was completely in control at all times. "Hey," she whispered, nipping at his ear, "I'm on top this time, okay?"

Immediately, he obliged her by rolling to the bottom. His big hands simultaneously spanned her waist and lowered her down onto him. Betty closed her eyes at the sensation that would never stop surprising her, not if they did this a million times. And they probably would. "Oh, hello," she panted as her much smaller body accommodated his.

"Love you, birthday girl." His blue eyes were fevered, wide open and earnest like they always were when he was willing her to understand something completely. He could've told her that Wilhelmina's boobs were real and she would've believed him, if only the statement was accompanied by that look.

"Love you, too, boss." Sighing happily, they lost themselves in the sensations they were causing each other to have.

--

"Have a nice weekend, you two?" Hilda inquired brightly as Daniel and Betty strolled arm-in-arm up the walk to the Casa de Suarez. Hilda was a little too chipper for comfort, and Betty could have seen the signs of Big!Bored!Nosy!Sister all the way from the Alps.

"I see someone's walking like they've just finished a round in the national rodeo circuit," Hilda whispered, causing Betty to elbow her into a potted plant and keep right on trucking.

"Lay low, Dad still thinks I'm a virgin," Betty muttered under her breath to Daniel, who snickered.

"He won't after he gets a look at you now. You look like you've been deflowered about fifty times over. Within the last hour."

Betty gave a squeak of protest, then melted back into his arms with something akin to a purr. "And after I showered and everything."

"Gag me." Justin sat grinning on the bottom step.

Daniel grinned back. "Bite me." And they both fell to trying to muss each other's hair, a dire consequence for either of them. Betty adored the way Daniel interacted with Justin; he never treated him like some odd puzzle to be figured out and psychoanalyzed, and the frail boy returned the favor.

Ignacio heard the commotion and walked into the foyer to embrace Betty, then Daniel, completely ignoring the fact that the latter was giving his grandson a noogie. "Happy belated birthday, mija," he said warmly in his husky, rumble-y tones.

"Thanks, Daddy," she responded, kissing his cheek. This night was part of their father/daughter compromise; immediately after she celebrated her birthday with her boyfriend, she was to report back home, hot brunette gringo in tow, and have a family dinner.

It had become a running family joke that Daniel couldn't handle spicy foods, so whenever he came over for dinner, Ignacio would make "gringo chili." Essentially, he didn't use the incredibly hot seasoning he used when it was just them eating it; Betty always teased that they could use it for gunpowder in case Gina Gambaro came over and tried to steal her man.

"So what's on the agenda at Mode for tomorrow?" Justin wanted to know.

"The wooing of clients…particularly a guy named Travis Perdon from Eastern Outfitters. I think I'll just let Betty charm him into submission over lunch," Daniel smiled, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"Travis Perdon is a beautiful and talented man." Justin said solemnly, delicately spooning in another bite of chili. Of the family's amused looks, he huffed "I do my homework."

Hilda snorted. "If only."

God, Daniel loved them all. The give and take, the good-natured banter, the calling out of each other's bullshit. As he felt the last of his tension melt away with Betty's skilled little hands on his shoulders, he mused that by this time in the evening, half of his own family would've been wasted and the other half would've been plotting to kill the wasted half.

He would almost dread going back to work if not for the tiny woman who was currently nodding off to sleep against his shoulder. Ignacio face practically lit from within every time he looked at her. "Daniel, I think you've worn her out," he observed fondly.

Hilda choked on her last bite of chili and nonfat organic milk came out Justin's nose.

**Reviews, please! I thrive on them. They are my precious. **

**Next chapter****: Travis Perdon is indeed beautiful. And he's going to make our Betty an offer she can't refuse…and Daniel can't ignore.**


	2. Chapter 2

Betty was trying desperately not to giggle like a fangirl over the naughty emails Daniel was sending her

**A/N: I squealed like a piglet over the reviews…many, many thanks xD You guys have been so incredibly patient while I crank out what I can. Life is just so hectic this time of year…anyway, here's the next installment. **

Betty was trying desperately not to giggle like a fangirl over the naughty emails Daniel was sending her.

_Lean over a little further, will you? Your top's missing some buttons, I think. Love Daniel._

_Mr. Meade, I am shocked! Sexual harassment in the workplace…will you ever learn?_

"Ms. Suarez, I presume?"

Betty nearly fell out of her chair, then put on her best I-wasn't-having-computer-sex-with-my-boss face. She swiveled around and found herself engulfed in the darkest pair of liquid eyes she'd ever seen underneath fashionably unruly blonde curls.

"Uh, yes…I am her…I mean, she would be me…Betty…because I am…she…hi." Flustered for some indiscernible reason, she stood and held out her hand. She didn't have to reach very far because he was very, very close. Big guy. Big, hot, pretty guy.

He looked very amused, but not condescendingly so. It reminded her of how Daniel had looked at her when she'd inadvertently ripped Philippe the photographer on her first day at Mode. She didn't know why she was having such a visceral and inappropriate reaction to him. She worked around hunky underwear models on a daily basis and had never once become handi-incapable over them.

"Travis Perdon." He took her hand and kissed it. His lips lingered just a little longer than they should have.

Daniel thought so, too.

He'd been awaiting this Perdon guy all morning. If they didn't land him as an advertiser, the magazine would be in deep doo-doo. He really had no worries in that regard, though, because all he had to do was unleash Betty on an unsuspecting potential client and the deal was as good as sealed.

Perdon, though, looked like he wanted to seal a completely different kind of deal with _Daniel's_ girlfriend, his soul-mate, his best friend, his baby, the center of his universe.

And what was worse, Betty, his sensible, unflappable, appearance-impervious Betty, looked like she just might be willing to let him.

Daniel realized that Betty didn't wasn't remotely aware of the effect she had on men. She was full and curvy and luscious, and she walked with a little uncalculated sway to her hips that had attracted a number of covert stares over the years. She was so innocent it was sensual, and, yes, men noticed. He didn't think of himself as a jealous man, so he told himself that he didn't mind guys looking…as long as they didn't touch.

Perdon was touching. _Now he's kissing up her…oh, HELL, no…_

"Mr. Perdon." Daniel stood leaning against the doorframe and appearing as relaxed as a young sultan after a massage from umpteen virgins. She knew better. Daniel was a jealous man, although he'd be tiresome and argue the point into the next millennium. She knew that relaxed stance—he was holding himself at bay. Ordinarily, he'd be all about shaking Travis's hand and patting each other on the back and doing the rich-boy executive clubhouse crappola. If he wasn't, that could only mean one thing.

He was trying not to rearrange Travis's face.

Blessedly, Travis had grabbed a clue and stopped slurping on her arm when he'd first felt Wrathful-and-SO-obviously-her-boyfriend!Daniel's death rays burning into his back.

"Mr. Meade," Travis said with a brilliant smile. "I was just getting to know your lovely assistant." He held out his hand and Daniel eventually came slinking over to reciprocate. Betty came out from around her desk.

"So, can I get you guys anything? Tea, coffee, bottled water…?"

Daniel's eyes never left Travis, but he gently pulled Betty closer to him; his fingers deftly began to massage the back of her neck.

Betty was at first indignant and thought _Pee on my leg, why don't you? Sheesh._ But those fingers were working their magic.

Travis took in the possessive gesture. "Nothing for me, thanks, love."

Daniel turned and looked directly at her. "No, thanks, baby."

Betty was surprised at the endearment. He usually reserved it for their most intimate moments, and she frankly felt a little exposed. That he would use it now for leverage in some weird, pseudo pissing contest stung. She managed a curt nod.

Travis strode though the door of Daniel's office. He kept glancing back at Betty, Daniel realized with annoyance. "So you and she are…"

"Not up for discussion." Softening his tone by sheer force of will, Daniel added, "My private life will remain private."

Travis threw up his hands. "Ooookay…let's talk business."

Daniel inwardly sighed. _Freakin' finally…_

"Over lunch at Martinelli's."

_Damn. It. _

He really, REALLY didn't want Betty to be exposed to this smarmy dicksmack anymore than could be helped, but Travis did seem to be thoroughly charmed by her. _And vice-versa_, Daniel's mind added, and he felt a roiling in his gut at the thought.

Travis checked his watch. "We have to be done by two, okay? I have a flight to catch."

"Fine, let's go." He flew out the door like someone had lit a fire under his ass. "Betty, Martinelli's, let's roll."

She grabbed her sweater. _This should be craptacular._

Daniel was contemplating the merits of kicking Travis in the nads under the table and pinning it on Betty. He tried once again to actually start talking the account.

"So, Mr. Perdon…"

"Please, call me Travis." His eyes never left Betty, who was biting that scrumptious bottom lip of hers raw. Daniel longed to be home at the loft, lounging in bed naked with his girlfriend as the afternoon light streamed in on both of them and listening to her bitch about that ugly-ass mural.

"Travis," Daniel ground out, "_Mode_'s circulation count over the past two years has been without peer. I think if you look at our demographic stats, women 18-35, they prefer us over _Vogue_ and _Elle_ by…"

"Nope, no business talk on an empty stomach." He glanced wryly back at the kitchen. "Maybe they had to catch the chicken and kill it themselves?" Travis rested his perfect head on his fist and gazed at Betty, who smiled politely.

"Maybe someone should go to the bathroom," she suggested. "That always makes the food come."

Daniel felt his cell vibrate from inside his pocket. The covert text from Betty read _That means you, babe. I'll wear him down._

"I'll go!" Daniel said brightly and stalked off. He cast a final glance over his shoulder and grimaced as he saw Travis scoot his chair closer to Betty's. _Will NOT blow this account, will NOT blow this account…_

He mooned around in the restroom for a minute before texting Betty. Two could play this game. _Did the food come yet? Also, what has he groped so far?_

Betty, meanwhile, broke of mid-sentence in her conversation with Travis about the merits of Henry James to respond. She gave him an apologetic look, did a double-take at Daniel's sheer audacity and began rapidly texting him back. _Yes, the food is here. No, he hasn't groped a damn thing and can we GET more unprofessional?! _

As she tilted her head and dimpled prettily, Betty dearly hoped her sappy-sweet grin at her erstwhile boyfriend as he made his way back to the table conveyed all the rage-fueled sarcasm she could muster.

Daniel dearly hoped his responding smirk conveyed the devil-may-care quality that he was having a harder and harder time conjuring these days.

--

It was an odd kind of spat.

Neither half of Detty was very good at direct confrontation, ever. They preferred to bob, weave, and serpentine their way around an issue until they were back nuzzling and talking shmoopily to each other.

Usually, it would be really awkward, but then Betty would make a weird face as she sipped her champagne over dinner or Daniel would flick water on her after he emerged from the shower, there would be giggles, and they would be golden.

Not tonight, apparently.

Tonight they had gained a client but lost an intangible something in the process. They sat on opposite sides of the towncar, Betty pretending to fine-tune tomorrow's schedule and Daniel pretending to check his messages. They pulled up at Daniel's Soho apartment complex just as it was about to get stupid. No one had that many messages, not even Daniel Meade.

As soon as they hit the loft, Daniel mumbled something about needing a shower and Betty made a beeline for the Ben and Jerry's. As Daniel brushed his teeth, Betty listlessly shifted through her overnight bag and swore as she couldn't find her toothbrush.

She reluctantly shuffled over to Daniel and reported the news dully. "I can't find my toothbrush. The pink sparkly one."

Daniel responded by handing her his and briskly maneuvering around her into the bedroom.

Betty mechanically brushed her teeth, her mind casting about desperately over what exactly had gone so horribly wrong. There had been no explosion of anger, which would've really been better than this cold formality.

When she entered the bedroom, Daniel, folder open and briefcase on the floor beside the bed, was reading over his notes. He was wearing his reading glasses, glasses that she'd finally finagled him into getting when she told him that all that squinting would give him crow's feet. His hair was tousled into a for-once unintentional faux-hawk and was still slightly damp.

The effect was totally _RAWR_. Betty ached to touch him, to bury her nose in those silky, wet brunette locks, all salty with Daniel!smell.

Instead, Betty crawled in beside him, turned over on her side, and instantly missed his bare back against hers.

Daniel, for his part, was dying inside. His pride had taken a blow tonight, watching Betty and Travis talk literature and politics and art and stuff he hadn't given two shits about since…well, ever. He knew, in the rational part of his mind, that it had been 97 business on Betty's end. It was that other 3, though, the percent that was honest-to-God attraction, that had him scared stupid.

Hearing a rustling next to him, he saw that Betty had stripped off her sunflower t-shirt but still hadn't turned over to face him. It was a sign, he knew it was, because every movement between them had been calculated and deliberate and robotic tonight.

Unsure about where he stood with her, but knowing what they both needed, he wrapped himself around her and he swore the very walls of the loft let out an audible sigh of relief.

He kissed her temple but she had dropped of to sleep as soon as their bodies merged.

With the knowledge that this wasn't over, Daniel followed suit.

**I know, it's angsty. And long. And angsty.**

**Next chapter: It is SO on when Daniel learns just what exactly Travis and Betty discussed while he was in the john.**

**Reviews make my life. Please send some my way :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi, guys! (Waves dorkily.) Thanks ever so for the amazing reviews xD I hope this chappie clears some things up…it's filler mostly, but it's HOT, SEXY filler. Heeheee.**

Sometime during the night, Betty and Daniel had tacitly agreed to tiptoe around each other in a creepily mundane manner.

The first thing Betty did when she woke up was turn around in Daniel's arms and kiss his chest until he opened his eyes into sapphire slits. Normally it wouldn't have ended there, but circumstances being what they were, Daniel gave her a kiss on the top of the head and swiftly departed the bed.

Betty figured she might as well be the first at the hot water, seeing as there wasn't bound to much titillating conversation if she went into the kitchen. Her head hurt from the tension of being on-the-outs-yet-not with her boyfriend. As she toweled off in front of the mirror, she hoped that Daniel would come in and comb out her long hair—he loved doing that. But apparently Grumpy McCrankerstein was staying put on his kitchen stool.

That was where she found him when she walked in barefoot. He had to be on his fourth cup of coffee by now. If he was trying to provoke her, this was the way to do it. The doctor had made it very clear that Daniel was to reduce his caffeine intake due to the heart condition he'd inherited from Bradford. _Leave it to Bradford to screw over his son from beyond the grave_, Betty had thought upon hearing the news, although her initial reaction was something along the lines of _Oh, God, oh, God, there's something wrong with my baby's heart, Oh, God_.

Betty tugged the cup out of his grip, which she knew was the equivalent of poking a stick down a rabid badger hole. Daniel snarled, "What the hell?"

Betty cocked an eyebrow. "Easy on the coffee. Doctor's orders."

"That quack can kiss my ass."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear that he has the go-ahead. You can tell him that when you're lying flat on your back in a hospital bed. Assuming you're not lying flat on your back in the morgue, that is."

"What is this, punishment for last night? Get off my back, dear." He spat the last word as if it were a curse.

"Oh, now he decides to breach the subject of That Which We Do Not Speak Of."

"More like Who We Do Not Speak Of."

Betty put on small hand on her hip and tilted her head to one side, her expression almost pleasant. Daniel knew he was in for it, and he'd never deserved it more. "I'm going to say this once, and only once. Travis and I were _talking_, Daniel. Not groping, not flirting, not making out with a kissy face and a condom in his back pocket. It. Was. Just. Business. Business with a client that, if I remember correctly, you tossed me at."

Daniel knew he had no leg to stand on here; he had been unfair and irrational and jealous as hell. He still was. He stuck to the only piddly argument he could snatch. "I didn't _toss_ you at him."

"You know what I mean. Do I get pissy when models wearing not a yard's worth of lingerie prance in front of you in your office? No, because it's your job. Just like it's my job to woo and land clients and bring you bagels. Which we're out of this morning, by the way, so tough titties." Betty put her hand to her head. "Now I have a frigging headache, all because you're acting like a silly-ass boy. Hope you're happy, Meade."

Daniel figured he might as well voice his torment. He reached for her hand, pulled it away from her head, and began massaging her temples as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "God, baby, I'm so sorry. It's just…" Those blue eyes drifted downward and his brow furrowed as he searched for the right words. He looked like a little boy trying to ace a test. "It's just that the more grown and gorgeous and freaking brilliant you get, the more I realize that you deserve someone who can talk to you about books and art and music. And when I saw you and Travis talking _literature_, for crap's sake, I… in case you haven't picked up on this, Betty, we are two extremely different people."

Betty ached for him and wanted to strangle him with one of his designer ties. It happened a lot with Daniel. She took his face in her hands and relished the feel of his morning stubble against her palms. Hopefully when this was over, she'd feel it on other parts of her, as well. "What I deserve? What I deserve is to be with someone who makes me deliriously joyful. Someone kind and generous and human and scarily smart, even though he doesn't know it. That's you, Daniel. It has never been anyone but you. It will never be anyone but you. Do you understand me?"

Daniel's smoldering eyes, brimming with relief and adoration with more than a little ever-present horniness, never left hers as he nodded slowly. Betty had one more thing to say, and she needed to say it before she was ravaged from one side of the loft to the other, as Daniel was positioned to pounce. Crouching Daniel, Hidden Randy Meade.

"And that other bullshit you said about us being totally different people?" Betty backed up slowly as Daniel slid off the stool in one swift movement and began to advance.

"Uh-huh." He was locked in on his delectable prey.

"Well, where have you been for the last several years? We're so alike, so together, so _one_ that when you heart's breaking, I can feel it from anywhere I am."

Betty finally stopped backing up once she hit the counter, and Daniel flowed into her, wrapped around her, the way they were meant to be. She put her palm to his bare chest and felt the heartbeat there. "Speaking of which…did you take your heart medicine this morning?" she whispered, raspy, as Daniel kissed down her neck. She felt him pause and smile against her skin. _Oh, that stubble…_

"Won't you just grind it up in my food anyways?"

Betty smirked happily. "Of course. See what I have to resort to when you're being stubb…ooof!"

Betty head tilted back already from the Make-out Olympics, saw the ceiling rush towards her as she was effortlessly lifted. She was woozy from Daniel and not having eaten, but mostly Daniel, and managed to gather her remaining brain cells around her for one small request.

Daniel, who was trying to enter their bedroom, Betty slung cave-girl style over his shoulder, was finding it hard to accomplish this because his girlfriend's hands were grasping the door frame.

"Daniel, we need supplies," she begged, refusing to dislodge from the doorway.

Daniel growled in mock-annoyance, working on pulling each little finger firmly but gently away. He knew he'd bring Manhattan into the room and put it on the nightstand if she asked. "What do you need?" he said, heaving a dramatic sigh.

Betty squeaked happily, playing with his hair as they made a u-turn back to the fridge. "Ice cream, peanut butter, whipped cream, some of that fudge topping, but not the kind that hardens into a shell, strawberries, grapes, and those little Triscuit wheat crackers. Oh, and mustard."

As she was rattling all this off, Daniel was trying to balance her across one shoulder, kicking her feet merrily, and the goodies in the other. "Is any of this going to be used for kinky purposes, per chance?" he asked hopefully.

"Not the Triscuits. The mustard is for those, and that tends to burn, we figured that out the hard way…"

Daniel deposited her on the bed, and she rolled over a little before coming to rest on her side, the box of crackers clutched to her chest. Daniel grinned at her sheer adorableness. "I'm gonna have to make another trip. So much for spontaneous sex." He gave her a quick peck on the lips.

"That was always more your forte than mine," she said matter-of-factly. "Now off with you." She punctuated each word with a butt-slap.

When Daniel returned, he'd expected to see her applying mustard to Triscuits, but instead found her staring off into space, the morning light filtering through the tangles of her raven hair. She didn't look sad, exactly, just contemplative. Her hands were clasped together as if she were about to receive a lesson.

Well, he was about to give her something to contemplate because, in that instant, it all came down to two words, words that he'd known would pop out at the most random time despite his plans of roses and champagne and candlelit dinner and post-engagement sexathons. He simply could not help it. "Marry me."

Betty snapped out of her reverie, he could tell by the lifting of her head, but she didn't turn around. He could see her profile smirk cutely. "Oh, stop being a smart-ass, get naked, and get over…" she turned and caught sight of his face. Her smirk faded. "…here," she finished, a catch in her voice.

Daniel moved towards her like a sleep-walker, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's not a question, Betty. It's an order. You will marry me."

"Yes…" she murmured, hypnotized with love and shock and longing. _Sweet Jesus above, a million times YES!_

For a moment, she sat there trembling, and Daniel wanted nothing more than to hold her like a child, but in the next second she had darted across the mattress and was wrapped around him. He felt wetness on his shoulder and made soft soothing noises as he buried his face in her hair. "Are those tears of joy, I'm hoping?"

He felt her nod.

He shifted her into a more comfortable position in his arms as if she were a malleable rag-doll, and said wryly, "I will, however, ask Mr. Suarez for permission. Something tells me he'll cut a bitch."

**Okay, so I didn't get around to my teaser about the conversation between Travis and our heroine, but it is coming, my dears, yes it is. This chapter was just getting really long and I needed to wrap it up at some point. Anywho, reviews are ever delightful and life-sustaining. Please leave lots :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: First off, my reviewers are fantastic (gathers everyone into a hug and squeezes)! Seriously though, you guys are the reason I write, so many thanks for taking the time to read my long-winded crack-fics :D Here's the next chapter…it's a bit long, too.**

When the phone rang, Betty brightly turned on the bedside lamp, propped herself up on some pillows, and answered, despite the fact that it was 4 am.

"Hello?" she said innocently.

"Hey, baby-doll," came a deep, rich male voice over the other end. "What're you wearing?"

Betty smothered a giggle. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't tolerate obscene phone calls under any circumstances. If you must, I'll turn you over to Halston, and you can say your dirties to him," she explained primly. She passed the phone to Halston, who absently licked the receiver.

Betty put it back up to her ear. "Happy now? Got it all out of your system?"

"You know," Daniel sighed over the line, "The purpose of phone sex is that you're the one licking the receiver instead of an old dog with dementia and gastrointestinal issues that had better _not_ be on my side of the bed, by the way."

"I got lonely," Betty said defensively, "and I owe Amanda for getting us those opera tickets. But…"

Daniel could practically hear her chewing in her luscious bottom lip. "I miss you," she finished simply. "You are coming back tomorrow at five, right? No more delays?"

Daniel's heart had officially been tugged in a million different directions at the hope in her voice. "Yes, love," he said softly, fingering the velvet box in his hands. "And I'm bringing you back something. Something I promised you. It'll make any skank that was ever mean to you jealous," he finished, knowing perfectly well what an un-Betty-like motivation that was.

There was a silence on the other end while she processed this. "As long as it doesn't look like something Wilhelmina Slater would wear on her bony old finger after procuring it from some old geezer she got Marc to off with arsenic."

Daniel laughed. "Damn, looks like I'll have to spend some more time scouring Paris. Didn't know your standards in jewelry were so exacting, Ms. Suarez-soon-to-be-Meade."

Betty almost melted into her pillows. Daniel had fabulous taste in jewelry.

"So, did that get you in the mood?" Daniel asked hopefully. Before she could answer, he had lowered his voice an octave. "Let's try this again, Mrs. Meade. What are you wearing?"

"My pajamas with the dancing frogs. It's sexy stuff, really," she said flatly. "Look, I'm not having international phone sex with you for so many reasons, not least of which is that I think our call's been intercepted by some Japanese businessmen."

Daniel chuckled. "Prude. I'll have to break you of that when I get back."

Betty snorted. "We'll see," she said, lovingly exasperated.

Daniel grew quiet. "You're lonely?" he asked, concerned.

Betty smiled. "Oh, I'm just being melodramatic. It's my right, seeing as my fiancé's shooting over the Atlantic in a metal tube with wings."

"Otherwise known as a plane," Daniel grinned. "Don't worry, babe, in case of a crash, I'll just use Alexis's inflated ego as a floatation device."

"Don't joke," she said, her voice soft and strained.

"Betty, I'll be fine. I'll see you in no time at all, and then we'll both put on something black and sexy and go to the awards ceremony, where we'll hobnob with the most obnoxious people on God's green earth and then head back home and totally do it."

"Nice to see you have a plan." She nuzzled the receiver as if it were his cheek. "Goodnight, Daniel, I love you."

Daniel, across the Atlantic, did the same. "Love you, too, sweetheart. Get some sleep." He sat holding the phone even after he heard the receiver click.

Alexis was standing in the doorway grinning from ear-to-ear, and for a moment his brother Alex stood there before him, begging to get pounded. She made a kissy face. "Ooooh, Betty, I luuuuurve you, sweetheart."

"Oh, shut up, ass-face. You're lucky you're a girl now," he snapped tossing the phone at her.

As he lay back on the bed, he couldn't hide his grin. He was marrying her. And she loved him. And he loved her. And their families loved each other, or at the very least weren't taking out hits on each other, and Mr. Suarez had given his blessing. Believe it or not.

**Flashback**

"_Mr. Suarez, there's something I need to talk to you about."_

_Ignacio looked at him calmly. "Go ahead."_

_Daniel fiddled with his fork, which he was still clutching despite the fact that they'd moved to the living room. "Well, sir, I kind of…asked Betty to marry me and she said "yes" and then started crying but she was happy, I swear, but I promised her I'd ask you because it's really important to us both…"_

"_I said 'go ahead,' didn't I?" Ignacio was smiling warmly now, and if Daniel weren't about to pee his pants, he'd have stopped babbling and noted how very like her father Betty was._

"_Oh, I, uh, thought you meant, like, to go ahead and tell you what was…okay." Daniel hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ignacio was laughing his ass off. _

"_Hilda, mija, you owe me a twenty," he called. He leaned forward and patted him on the cheek. "Man, watching you sweat it out over dinner was better than the Superbowl. We were taking bets on when you'd ask. Hilda said two hours from now, but I knew you'd either crack or pass out by now."_

_Daniel heard rather than saw the telltale jangling of bracelets that signified Hilda's arrival into the living room. "Oh, my God, Daniel, breathe. Honey, breathe." She slapped his back. "Betty, get in here, your fiance's about to die!" she called merrily._

_Daniel finally looked up to see Justin; the frail boy's arms were crossed and his hip was cocked. "Betty's wearing ivory," he said at last before practically skipping off._

_**/End flashback**_

Betty heard a knock at the door at 5:30 pm.

She'd just broken her third brush on her thick black hair, which curled like Shirley frigging Temple's when wet. Daniel was the only one who could bring any order to it.

She wrapped a towel around her head and one around her body and pulled open the door. Before she could even squeal with delight, Daniel picked her up and spun her around. He then tipped her backward and kissed her senseless, ending with a big dramatic smack. It was like the finale of a Broadway musical or something.

Betty, now dizzy and flushed and happy, breathed dazedly, "You're back."

"You noticed. Me and my little friend, here." He got down on one knee and presented her with the little box. Cracking it open, it revealed a pink princess-cut diamond that suited her perfectly…not too flashy but just quirky and beautiful enough to be uniquely her.

Betty normally liked to think of herself as the anti-Mode Girl. This meant that snubbing materialism came along with that territory. But, deep down, she had to admit she loved nice things, especially when they were shiny and pink and sparkly, and came from Paris in lovely black velvet boxes which were being held by a gloriously hot heir-scion to a publishing empire.

Well, she could enjoy this immensely. She wasn't catatonic.

Daniel smiled up at her with that little cheeky half-smile he'd perfected. "So, you like it?"

In response, Betty leaped into his arms, bowling him over, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Daniel found himself flat on his back, with Betty straddling him in her soft, fluffy towels, looking like an Egyptian princess in her towel-headdress and admiring her ring, clutching it to her like a little magpie.

It wasn't the worst place in the world to be.

**Next chapter will have more nitty-gritty, I promise. And Travis will make his triumphant return. Bombshells will be dropped. And there will be much Dettyness to be had. But in the meantime, please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: OMG, you guys are the BEST readers and reviewers in the universe. You make me blush like a virgin--touched for the very first time xD**

**Without further ado…**

Betty grabbed her little black dress off the hanger and shimmied into it. She admired herself in the mirror, realizing that she needed Daniel to zip her up…it was only fair, seeing as he was the one who'd be getting her back out of it again once the night was over. She hoped he wasn't still being a baby and claiming bruised ribs after she'd _enthusiastically hugged_ him earlier. I was not a _tackle_, dammit. Ladies did not _tackle_, and although Daniel said he'd received gentler hits on the football field, Betty knew he liked it a little rough. The big pretty freak.

_God, it feels like we've gone to a million of these things_, she thought as she fumbled with her zipper. She didn't mind charity balls because, even though they were generally an excuse for the rich and famous to make like Bono for publicity, the money did go where it was needed. But awards ceremonies…she shuddered. Daniel hated them as much as she did, and he had it worse.

While she could sit back and cool her heels at one of the tables after making the rounds, he actually had to act as an emcee when it came right down to it, and present awards to photographers who thought taking pictures of emaciated eighteen-year-olds hanging out of trees was the height of creative talent. Daniel often complained that it made him feel like Ryan Seacrest, only slightly less metrosexual.

The man in question came striding in. "Betty, have you seen my…whoa." He eyed her from head to toe in quite a porny way, and she blushed. She would still blush on their golden anniversary, when he looked at her that way.

"I need to you zip me up," she said. As he moved behind her to oblige, she asked "What were you looking for?"

"My cufflinks," he murmured. He wet a fingertip and slid it up her spine.

"Daniel," she gasped, "behave, you." He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to him, and her eyes widened. "Um," she said shakily as his hips began to oh-so-subtly rub against her butt, "are you sure…they're not…in your pocket…"

"Oh, baby, those aren't cufflinks, trust me," he laughed in her ear, before kissing her temple and abruptly leaving. Betty leaned, shocked, horny and incredulous, against the counter.

"Tease!" she huffed loudly, and she could hear his responding laugh.

"That's payback for all that sexy talk about your dancing frog pajamas, and me all those miles away with just my right hand for company. Tsk, tsk."

"Well, Halston ate your damn cufflinks. Here's to two weeks of sifting through dog poo, Meade, 'cause you know how backed up the little angel gets," she shot back, smothering her laughter in spite of herself.

She slinked out of the bathroom, finally, and Daniel wondered through his haze of adoration, just who the tease really was.

"Oh, hello, Cleavage, how are you tonight? Have you seen my fiancé? She was here just a second ago…" Daniel craned his neck down for a better look.

"Okay, you're not even drunk yet, and already you're talking to my cleavage. Never a good sign." She pulled him down for a kiss as she began to industriously and expertly tie his tie.

"No, seriously, is that a push-up bra, because, baby, you don't need one and Becks will be there and I really don't want to have to rearrange anyone's face for staring down your dress…"

"Daniel," she interrupted thoughtfully. "Are we going to make any big…announcements tonight?" She played with her engagement ring.

He took her hand in his and kissed it. "Whenever you're ready. But I've gotta warn you, what with my impending jetlag, I doubt I'll be much use for beating off the delightful paparazzi/media combo that's bound to swarm in."

"You're right," she nodded decisively. "I want to savor our privacy for as long as we can. Suzuki St. Pierre practically tests my ring-finger for trace evidence every time we go to these things, so you know the little shite is expecting it any day now."

Daniel kissed her forehead. "Oh, I forgot to mention…you'resittingnexttomymothersoshedoesn'tgetblitzedandflashsomeone. Okay, we're off," he said brightly, taking her arm and steering her toward the door.

Betty was feeling the love.

And feeling pretty damn stupid.

For all her anxiety about declaring their shiny new engagement to the world, she'd forgotten to take off her shiny new engagement _ring_. Halston, the little traitor, had kept sniffing at it, probably excited to smell something familiarly expensive. He'd formerly belonged to Fey Sommers, after all.

And his new owner, Amanda, who was equally keen on sniffing out luxury items, had done that thing where her green eyes grew wide, one plucked-within-an-inch-of-its-life eyebrow raised to the rafters, and her glossy little mouth formed an "O." She'd snatched her dog back, the latter still craning his head to try to get a few licks in on Betty's bling, and ran off immediately to find Marc.

Once the gruesome twosome was in on it, everyone knew. She could literally see, as gossiping mouths muttered into bent ears, the news traveling around the room. By the time it reached the bar, where a few drunkards made a loud toast, Betty was fielding compliments and congrats, begging off offers of photoshoots and designer bridal gowns (Wang was awfully pushy), and wondering where in the hell her fiancé was.

The crowd was pushing in, and she was starting to get claustrophobic, and was, frankly, on the verge of panic. She hadn't made it five feet in the door and she was growing tired from standing and, dammit, she wasn't used to handling this kind of thing without Daniel by her side to ward off the stalkerazzi.

She'd initially scoffed at Daniel's frequent adamant proposals that she hire a bodyguard, but now she fervently wished she had a big burly bruiser to knock some of these asshats back. One grabbed her hand and pulled her over to him; Betty gave a futile shove, and when she felt other hands begin to spin her around in their direction, she lost it.

She was about to scream, Fashion TV be damned, when she saw a fist land squarely on the jaw of the guy who had her in his grip. Before she could comprehend who'd reduced this guy's face to a bloody mess, she felt herself being pulled against Daniel's chest.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby, I've got you…Daniel's here…God, you're shaking…" He wrapped his dinner jacket around her shoulders and rubbed her upper arms. Betty whimpered with relief as he began stroking her hair. "So, I hear through the grapevine we're engaged," he said, his voice tinged with gentle laughter.

Betty gulped and looked partially up from where her face was buried against his chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Becks muscling back about a dozen photographers. Every so often, one would make it under his arm, but was quickly grabbed by the scruff of the neck as if he weighed no more than a kitten. Becks, she grudgingly supposed, had his uses.

"Daniel," she said shakily, "I don't understand…I mean, why would anyone be so rabid to get _my_ picture…I'm just Betty, for God's sake, a secretary from Queens…"

Daniel sighed and lifted her chin with a finger. She had to be upset when she referred to herself as a secretary rather than an administrative assistant. "Because, sweetheart, you're going to be the wife of the heir to the global Meade Publishing Empire. And, in the future, you'll be the mommy to even more little heirs. Yeah, people are interested."

Betty looked at him in surprise at his acknowledgement. She'd always supposed that the mention of children would send Daniel running.

Seeing her look, Daniel shrugged self-consciously. "I was raised to look at the big picture." He knew she was upset, but he had to put it to her straight. He'd always done so and he couldn't fail her now. "Betty, this is how it's gonna be for you from here on out. If it's not our engagement, it'll be some tabloid saying that one of us is cheating on the other with one half of Brangelina, or that you've secretly had an alien baby with three monkey heads." Betty laughed despite her residual fear and Daniel responded with a chuckle of his own. "And who can blame people for wanting your picture?" he said huskily, stepping back slightly to take her in from head to toe. "The way you look tonight…all glowing and gorgeous and…"

"Well-loved," Betty finished, her cheeks turning pink.

"Well-loved," Daniel agreed. "Definitely."

"What in the hell went down here?" Alexis's voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

Betty straightened immediately and cleared her throat. In many ways, she felt less comfortable around Alexis than she had around Bradford. At least one always knew where one stood with him. Alexis was another matter entirely. Betty had always resented her more than a little because she gave her loyalty to the bottom line; her family came a distant second. Betty knew that Alexis was perfectly aware that her loyalties were with Daniel entirely, if it came right down to it. And maybe, just maybe, Alexis sort of approved. If she had an opinion about Daniel and Betty's union, she never showed it, but Betty had often felt that inscrutable blue-green, heavy-lidded gaze on her.

"Just a brush with the paparazzi is all. No big hairy." Betty laughed nervously and immediately cursed herself for her twittery answer. Alexis exploited weakness like a lioness goes after a baby wildebeest. Alexis's eyes cut downward to look at her for all of about two seconds with an expression that could almost be construed as concern, and then returned to Daniel's face.

"Well, I suppose the footage of you slugging the paparazzo is all over YouTube by now," she sighed, brushing back a silky blonde tress. "I guess we might as well adopt Britney Spears's motto of "it's ALL good publicity" these days, anyway." She turned to leave, her elegant evening dress sparkling. "If that guy threatens to sue us for you, you know, making a bloody paste out of his nose, pay him off, will you Danny?" she said with an airy wave of her hand, not bothering to look back.

"Lesson the first of being a Meade," Daniel said wryly. "Throw enough money at a problem and it will magically disappear."

As they strolled arm-in-arm to their table, Betty couldn't tell if he was joking.

Betty loved Claire, she really and truly did, but keeping Daniel's imperious mother on the straight and narrow was even more difficult than her children made it.

Claire found Betty's near-death experience amusing in the extreme, but gave Betty's hand a comforting pat. "There, there, dear. It's a rite of passage, really. Oh, I remember the night mine and Bradford's engagement was leaked to the press. Everyone wanted to take my picture. Of course, I was also hanging out the window of Bradford's limo with my boobs out…"

She signaled a server carrying a tray of drinks. "I'll have a cocktail."

Then, off Betty's look: "I'll have iced water." Claire sighed. "Well, aren't we the little prohibitionist?"

"It's because I love you," Betty said sweetly, and meant it.

"And the feeling, my dear, is mutual." Claire smiled gently and pushed Betty's hair behind her ear. It was an annoying gesture when Hilda did it, but Betty found herself relishing the motherly attention from Mrs. Meade.

Across the room, Daniel was conversing with some former frat-holes that he was ashamed to say he knew. His eyes kept straying to Betty, and he nearly burst with pride every time he looked at her. He felt that he somehow had the moral high ground because he was engaged to a saint. She would have snorted at the idea, but he felt that she was good enough for the both of them.

Before his mind started to drift yet again, he managed one last disdainful thought about his current company. They were in their mid to late thirties and all they could talk about was nailing chicks. Of course, Daniel's mind glossed over the fact that, a few years ago, he _was_ these guys.

"Our girl's looking lovely as ever."

Daniel's head whipped around and found himself face-to-face with Travis Perdon. Although Daniel rationally knew that Travis had every right to be here (his advertising contract with Mode had been a roaring success), it didn't stop Daniel from wanting to pound the guy. Well, he couldn't do that, but he could at least take some verbal pot-shots at him.

"_Our_ girl?" Daniel's blue eyes became basilisk cold, and for the briefest of moments, Travis looked disturbed.

But the grin was soon back in place. "I guess congrats are in order. She's quite a catch." His gaze returned to Betty, where he preceded to look her up and down. "Beautiful, intelligent, talented…one might still wonder why she hasn't advanced in the company."

Daniel casually glanced at his watch, although his skeeve-radar was blipping like crazy. "I'm sorry, did you have a point, perchance? I promised my _fiancé_ we'd get out of here early. Go back to the loft, light some candles, run a hot bath…you know the rest."

Travis cocked his curly blonde head. "Nice plan. I've heard through the proverbial grapevine that Betty has plans, too. Or _had_, before you two started…dating. Hmmm, what were they? Oh, yeah, she wanted to be a writer and work her way up. But, for some odd reason, she's still bringing you coffee." Travis shrugged innocently. "Oh, well. I'm sure you'll work something out in that regard. I mean, she must want to keep de-linting the crotch of your pants."

He turned to leave. "After all, I offered her a cushy job in my company as a creative consultant and she turned me down." His eyes raked Betty once again. "What a woman," he murmured in genuine admiration.

He walked away humming to himself.

Daniel, who had been clutching his champagne flute to the point of shattering, relaxed his grip suddenly.

He couldn't think of anything to say.

**I know, very, very long. But there was a lot to cover and hopefully the cliffhanger-thingie is sufficient enough to keep everyone R and R-ing. (bats eyelashes).**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well, guys, it's been awhile. I'm here to beg for forgiveness at being a bad, bad updater :P But you guys have remained awesome in the review department, so many, many humble thanks. It's been so long, I had to go back and skim by own fic to remind myself of what had to happen in this chapter. A lot of dialogue, but hopefully you'll like it :D**

Betty smiled sweetly at their limo driver Jared as she barreled past him like the running of the bulls in Pamplona.

She dove into the backseat with an audible sigh of relief before he could even tip his hat.

Poor Jared was always quite at a loss when it came to Betty. He was madly in love with her, to the point where anyone who bothered to spare him a glance could see it. Thank God above that Daniel Meade didn't spare him a glance.

He didn't care what anyone said, as long as his boss didn't suspect his great ardor; Jared was pretty sure Daniel didn't notice, or he'd have been fired a thousand times over by now.

_Daniel Meade's fiancé._ Jared had shed a private tear at the news when it had finally hit the parking lot and his young ears.

It wasn't that he disliked Daniel at all—far from it. His boss was generous, reasonable and kind overall. But he had Betty--lovely, gentle, clumsy Betty-- who always inquired as to how Jared's day had been and remembered that his mother's name was Helen.

Speaking of Daniel, he appeared less determined than usual to reach the safety of the limo. He usually strode through the paparazzi like he was the T-1000 and they were a cloud of gnats. Now, though, he was practically letting them give him a full body-cavity search as he dumbly stood on the red carpet.

Jared figured that maybe his boss was hella stoned, not an uncommon occurrence until about four years ago, when Betty had arrived on the scene. Jared had just been little more than a valet then, but every now and again he'd have the opportunity to drive Daniel and his quirky assistant to business luncheons.

He'd witnessed the evolution of Detty, so to speak.

At first, they'd sit at opposite ends of the backseat. Daniel would check his messages and Betty would remind him of his appointments, receiving a curt, polite-ish reply in return. Jared was immensely uncomfortable just hearing the deafening silence. One thing was obvious; if Daniel had been less than thrilled about his new unglamorous assistant, Betty had been doubly so at the notion of picking gum off the shoes of a spoiled-brat manchild.

But they had quickly begun to have actual conversations. The next time Jared drove them, they still sat properly on opposite sides of the backseat, but their bodies were angled towards each other and they were actually talking about their opinions on various cover spread options—still all-business, but progress was being made. They were actually smiling at each other.

Pretty soon, Daniel would entreat Betty to scootch across the seat to sit beside him and look at paperwork that could've easily been taken care of in the office instead of the backseat of a town car. And once she was within close proximity, Daniel would inquire about her family and she would do the same of his, and Daniel would toss the paperwork onto the floor mats and they would just talk.

In one of the cruel turns of the universe, once Jared's heart had begun to stir over Betty's very presence, it was obvious that Daniel Meade's had as well. They would make up excuses to touch each other—Betty would straighten Daniel's tie or pocket handkerchief and Daniel would say she had something on her cheek just to run his fingers over her skin, or he would ask her to look at mockups through a magnifying glass and bury his nose in her hair while her head was bent in concentration.

And, most recently, Jared hadn't been able to study the unlikely couple in the backseat at all. The partition was always firmly up nowadays, and the most appalling slurping and moaning sounds emanated from the other side.

Which is why Jared found it immensely odd that, once Alexis had taken Daniel firmly by the elbow and shoved him into the limo next to Betty, they didn't even make a motion to put the partition up or request that the air conditioning be turned up back there or that soft, low music be played.

Very odd indeed…

dbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbdbd

Daniel sat staring blankly out the window, going over and over in his mind what that giant talking ulcer known as Travis Perdon had told him: _Oh, yeah, she wanted to be a writer and work her way up. But, for some odd reason, she's still bringing you coffee... I offered her a cushy job in my company as a creative consultant and she turned me down…_

"What's that smell?" he asked suddenly, illogically. But, for serious, there was a smell back there and it was the best smell in the world, really, because its sheer horridness distracted him from the fact that he'd been holding her back somehow…

Betty had taken out a hairpin and was frantically trying to open the mini bar, too exhausted and traumatized by her near-death experience with the paparazzi to notice her fiancé's weird mood.

"Oh, it's Halston," she said distractedly, barely looking over her shoulder as a lone loose curl bobbed in her efforts to pry the door open and get the tasty booze. The dog in question was napping under Betty's sable coat. "Amanda claims she needs me to take care of him for another damn week, something about a trip to Rio with some Wall Street golden boy, and I don't know why I'm even doing her the favor. She's the one who leaked our engagement to the press, she's on my shitlist, and why in GOD'S NAME won't this thing open?!"

"Oh," Daniel said, unperturbed by her outburst. "I thought I smelled a fart."

Betty leaned back in the seat, her bones officially goo. She rolled her head over and noticed Daniel's melancholyness for the first time.

"Hey, what's the matter?" She was starting to feel like she was on an awkward prom date, what with the limo, the locked mini-bar, the rumors, the itchy formal wear, and the pseudo-sullen boyfriend.

Daniel's head turned swiftly like an eagle's and his eyes locked into hers so suddenly that she almost flinched back against the seat. "Am I holding you back?"

"Wha…?"

"Betty, for such a damn brilliant woman, you can be incredibly stupid sometimes, over people." He lowered his voice. "Over me."

Now Betty was confused _and _defensive. "As much as I adore getting cryptically insulted, could you be a bit more specific?"

"Travis Perdon offered you a job, a better job. A job you've busted your ass for the past four years to deserve, and you turned him down. Why in the hell would you do that? I know you're not sticking around _Mode_ for the swag or the stellar rooftop view or the cheery bulimic headcases or the faboo nonexistent opportunities for advancement cropping up all around the place. Is it something to do with me?"

Betty took a deep breath. How could she tell Daniel about her long-ago death-bed promise to his father, about Bradford's dying wish that she take care of Daniel? And how could she tell him of her own secret cowardice, her insecurities, her fear that Daniel's new assistant would be smarter, prettier, and more talented, one that would see to his needs day and night because that was her job description, all while Betty was in her cushy corner office across the city and missing him dreadfully?

She couldn't say any of that. Not without making Daniel feel that neither she nor his father trusted him to do the right thing. Not without toppling herself from the loved and despised pedestal of perfection he'd placed her on.

Instead, she said lamely, "The timing was just never right, baby. Can we leave it at that, at least for tonight?"

Her eyes were pleading and wide and moist, and Daniel was tempted to put the issue in a proverbial box and shove it to the back of the proverbial Relationship Closet.

But, no.

All he could do was pray that she wouldn't hate him for what he was about to do.

"Betty, you're fired."

The limo hit a bump and Betty bit her tongue. The metallic taste in her mouth couldn't completely be attributed to blood. "Fired?" was her brilliant reply. "But why?"

This was worse than the time in the lobby of St. Patrick's Cathedral on the day of Bradford and Wilhelmina's wedding, Daniel's harsh words of hurt and betrayal ringing in the stale musty air, the sound of his polished shoes on the marble floor growing farther and farther away as she tried to fathom those two short words: "You're fired."

This time, though. This time it was infinitely worse…because she'd done nothing wrong.

Daniel fought back tears at Betty's pale, stunned face. He had to be the sensible one now, for both their sakes. But, God, all he wanted to do was reach across the seat and pull her into his lap and cuddle and kiss the hurt off her beloved face.

"Betty," he said, his voice thick and cracking, "I'm doing something I should've done when we started dating, for God's sake. I'm not a psychic. I have no crystal ball. But I can tell you this…our marriage will not survive the boss/assistant dynamic we have going now. I can't…expect you to bring me my coffee, and take my phone calls, and de-lint my suits during the day like you're my little geisha-girl or something and still be my wife. I can't be your superior _and_ you're husband, sweetheart. I just can't."

Betty gave a soft wail. "But I don't mind! I feel like I've finally, _finally_ made a place for myself at _Mode_. Just one more year as your assistant, Daniel, please! There's nothing wrong with being an assistant, all companies need them, and before I worked for you I was mopping up at…"

"A cat hospital, yeah, you told me," Daniel grimaced, the image of Betty wading through cat puke distinctly unpleasant. "And you're right—there's nothing wrong with being an assistant, but you, Miss Suarez, are far and away overqualified for the position. Perdon's offer is still open," Daniel swallowed heavily, his pride and his heart reluctantly sliding down his windpipe--sometimes it was a literal pain to do the right thing--as he continued, "and I want you to take it. I know you want to."

He could tell she was starting to relent by the way her shoulders relaxed and she nuzzled next to him, all warmth and Betty-essence. "For someone who doesn't think he should boss me around anymore, you sure are pushing the envelope tonight," she said wryly. "Isn't it _my _decision where I want to work, O Future Husband of Mine?"

A hint of trademark Daniel!smirk quirked his lips. "I suppose you can work wherever you want, but it's not gonna be at _Mode_. You got fired by your jackass yet gorgeous boss, remember?"

Betty walloped him in the arm.

"See, the boss/assistant dynamic's causing problems already," Daniel grinned.

Entwining her arms around his neck, Betty rested her forehead against his. "Your new assistant had better look like Bea Arthur, by the way."

Daniel chuckled, his clever mouth pausing from the task of giving her embarrassing yet totally hot hickeys. "As long as you promise not to be alone in the same room with Perdon, like, ever."

"Fair enough," she giggled. "So, Daniel," she said, as conversationally as she could while he was unbuttoning her blouse, "are you sure you don't want me to be your little part-time geisha girl?"

As Daniel pounced on her, sending her falling backwards with a breathless laugh, Jared figured it was a good time to put up the partition.

**I'm rather proud of this chapter, considering that when I sat down to the keyboard, I had only the vaguest idea of where it should go. There should be one or two more after this, but I'll try to wrap it up fairly quickly and neatly. Reviews are salivated over. Please leave some for me to savor xD**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Many thanks to all who've read and/or reviewed my little ol' story :D This chapter is a bit—in the words of Simon Cowell—**_**indulgent**_**, but hopefully it's good filler even if it is, well, filler. Just thought our heroes needed a little dirty, fluffy fun before they tie the knot and Betty starts her new job. (Also, I don't know if Jared will reappear again, I just thought it'd be fun to have an outsider's perspective on the Detty dynamic for that one chapter. But who knows…certainly not me.)**

Betty wasn't terribly surprised to find herself flat on her back on her leather sofa with a man's crotch gyrating not an inch from her face that night.

She'd just expected it to be Daniel's.

The bachelorette party was requisite, if only a little spur-of-the-moment. It had been Hilda's bright idea to hire the stripper, and that was going to be Betty's first line of defense should Daniel come strolling in unawares.

Otherwise, she was taking a "What he doesn't know won't kill me," kind of policy.

The stripper was lovely and chiseled, but he was no Daniel. And he looked suspiciously like that kid across the street that used to mow their lawn for ten bucks. She was still debating on whether or not to ask Hilda about that later.

And she was starting to get the uneasy feeling that everyone was a mango margarita away from crank-calling Daniel to ask him about his privates or something.

But on the upside, there were oodles of presents.

Christina had given her a T-shirt that said, "I worked at _Mode_ and all I got was this lousy swag," with a tabloid picture of Daniel's perfect speedo-clad butt emblazoned underneath it.

At least, Christina kept insisting the picture had come strictly from the tabloids, but Betty noticed how Amanda and Marc were snickering in the corner. Yet another thing she didn't want to know about, really.

Amanda had given her that _Menudo_ box set she'd tried to foist off on her years prior_—"It's increased in value!"_—, a framed picture of one of Halston's glamour shots--_"A picture of Fey's dog is practically a collector's item!"_—, and last but not least, premo tickets to "The Little Mermaid" on Broadway.

That last had been pretty cool of her.

Alexis and Claire weren't present—"Wedding business," they'd said--, although Betty was now the dubiously lucky recipient of a lifetime's worth of free trips to the most lavish spa in NYC, bamboo-fan-smacking and all.

Alexis, for the life of her, couldn't decide whether she wanted to be Betty's bridesmaid or wrestle Becks for the title of Daniel's best man, but Betty dearly hoped she figured it out in time for Christina to whip up either a dress or a tasteful pantsuit for her.

Things were a little awkward with Alexis just now, actually, although Betty wasn't sure whether or not it was all in her head. Because Claire, in lieu of Betty's late mother, was now lavishing Betty with totally sweet yet slightly embarrassing amounts of mother-of-the-bride-ish attention. It made Betty a little uncomfortable, afraid as she was that the ever-competitive Alexis would see it as Betty usurping her daughterly place in Claire's heart. After all, poor Alexis had yet to find a man that could really and truly look past her, well, past as a man, casting her marriage prospects very much in doubt.

She'd expressed this concern to Daniel one night. "Whether or not she gets her panties in a wad, it's out of your hands," he'd said with a light kiss on her lips. "She'd probably have more luck in the dating arena anyway if she'd dislodge the polar ice cap from her ass and put healthy relationships before the company."

Betty had wistfully sighed, rubbing a tired hand over her forehead. "Sometimes I wish we could just elope and go somewhere fabulous."

Daniel had chuckled and pulled her on top of him, still encircled in his protective arms. "It'd be a damn short honeymoon after Mom finds us and beats us to death with her dog-eared copy of _Modern Bride_."

So here she was, going through the engagement/wedding motions, halfheartedly stuffing singles down a stripper's g-string in the hopes that he would go away and thrust at someone else.

Maybe she could convince her well-meaning friends that since she started her new job in the morning, tonight might not be the night to engage in 'round-the-clock girly debauchery.

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Daniel wasn't terribly surprised to find himself flat on his back on a leather sofa with a woman's boobs bouncing not an inch from his face that night.

He'd just thought they would be Betty's.

Although his bachelor party was taking place in the most exclusive Gentlemen's Club in the city, he still felt like he could catch some kind of venereal disease simply by breathing the air.

It wasn't that Cheyenne wasn't trying her best, but it just wasn't happening.

She'd been Alexis and Bradford's favorite for as long as he could remember. Daniel, up until Betty, had never really been a breast man, but he'd found himself facedown in her cleavage at Bradford's bachelor party nonetheless.

"Can't beat Cheyenne in the jugs department," came Beck's tasteful observation from somewhere to his left.

Daniel ventured another glance the girls in question. He gingerly poked more singles into her glittery thong and tried once again to gently remove her off his lap. He'd given her enough tips to fund a Caribbean cruise for her and a dozen of her friends in the hopes that she'd prance off, but Cheyenne wasn't doing it for the money; she genuinely had an ubercrush on him, which made it all the more difficult to give her a swat on the rump and send her on her way. There was also the little fact that they'd grown up together, which had never squicked him out before now; nonetheless, it was pretty much a safe bet that the Chisholms's plans for their daughter to be a doctor were shot to hell by now anyway.

Daniel hoped his eye-roll was visible under the strobe lights' tawdry glare. "Becks, how much you wanna bet they're faux-hooters?"

Now it was Becks's turn to give an incredulous start. "Never was one to look gift knockers in the…cleavage. You're quite the buzz-kill tonight, Danny-boy, if you don't mind my saying so."

Daniel could only shrug and stare into the depths of his half-empty glass. This just wasn't his scene anymore, no matter how many shots Becks and the guys poured down his throat, no matter how many long legs and bare asses sprawled across his lap.

"Let me guess." Becks repositioned himself to face Daniel, slinging an arm negligently over the back of the booth seat. "You're thinking about a girl."

Daniel slid him a glance.

"You're thinking about The Girl," Becks said, encouraged.

A small smile, the first genuine one of the night, quirked Daniel's lips. "Getting warmer."

"About this tall," Becks gestured about four feet off the floor with his hand, "wild black hair, big brown Bambi eyes, perfect skin…"

Daniel's eyes grew misty. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice raspy with longing.

Becks's grin grew devilish. "Ass to stand up, salute, and scream for, curves you can ride like a roller coaster at Six Flags…" He made a crude thrusting motion with his hips.

Daniel snapped out of his reverie. "Becks, I swear to God…" he snarled in warning. He'd had just enough booze to give him zero compunction about beating his oldest friend to an unrecognizable puddle of goo.

And Becks had had just enough booze to be totally unimpressed by Daniel's "Hulk smash!" routine. "Wonder what she's doing right now?" he mused. "I'm sure the girls are showing her a good time. There are probably drinks. And freakishly muscular strippers dressed as pirates and carpenters and whatnot." He feigned a divine revelation. "Wait a sec…drinks plus strippers equal…" he motioned to Todd, a frat brother of theirs, wasted and sucking face with Cheyenne, who appeared peeved at Daniel's newfound lack of interest in her.

Daniel blanched. A cold sweat began to trickle down his forehead. "You think Betty…?" he croaked.

Becks looked at him through eyelashes the color of ripe wheat.

Daniel promptly vaulted over the back of the booth and beat a path to the exit like the hounds of hell were nipping on his heels.

Becks watched him leave in horrified yet unsurprised fascination, like one would an asteroid that was hurtling to earth. "Daniel's night's looking up," he muttered, self-satisfied, as he turned back around to better entice Cheyenne.

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Daniel practically fell out of the elevator in his hurry to get to his loft and put the kibosh on any kind of stripper-related activities.

Daniel's conscience reminded him that he actually had been in the presence of strippers tonight, whereas he was all but turned inside out at the very idea that Betty might be grinding against some Chippendale's reject.

His determined steps slowed guiltily.

Chauvinistic, maybe. Overly possessive, probably. Hypocritical, defini…_Holy hell, that very ripped man in the booty shorts just left my apartment…_

Booty Shorts offered Daniel a curt nod, as confident as if he had been wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He was followed by a cloud of people Daniel knew of the female variety spilling out behind him and giggling like mad.

Before he could reach the doorknob, it swung open and there stood Betty.

She stood there patiently with her hand on her hip, waiting as Daniel was still trying to form words.

"He…" Daniel finally managed, pointing down the hall.

"Uh-huh."

Daniel did a double-take. "Are you wearing a t-shirt with an ass on it?" He looked closer. "Is that _my_ ass?"

"Uh-huh."

Betty's eyes narrowed imperceptibly and her nostrils flared ever so slightly. For the first time, Daniel began to consider what a delinquent sight he must look.

"I have lipstick on my collar, don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

He licked his lips and looked dubiously back down the hall. "How 'bout I don't tell and you don't tell?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Missed you tonight." His eyes were devouring her whole.

"You'd better." Her smirk said that that, too, sounded like a plan.

"May I come in?" He leaned against the doorjamb.

Betty dreamily tilted her head upwards. "Thought you'd never ask."

Daniel bull-rushed her, slung her over his shoulder, and kicked the door closed with his foot.

They had a lot to catch up on.

**Okay, so tomorrow's my 22****nd**** birthday, and if you really, really want to give me a gifty, leave me a review xD I'm easy to please and equally cheap to buy for…**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: A big thanks goes out to everyone who was patient and indulged me on the last chapter :D And your wonderful reviews were out of this world, as per usual. It was uberfun to write, but now I have to get back to the business of the actual plot…infused with sexy fluff, of course. Here goes…**

When Betty reached for Daniel during the night and he wasn't there, she didn't think much of it in those first groggy seconds.

But when her hand sleepily reached out and spread flat on his side of the bed, only to find the sheets cold, she had to investigate. If he'd just gone to the bathroom, the sheets would still be warm, downright hot, even, with his copious amount of body heat.

_It's 4:00 am. Do you know where your mildly unpredictable fiancé is?_

She couldn't even admit it to herself, but ever since he'd collapsed in the conference room as a result of a genetic heart condition, she feared walking in one day to find him lifelessly sprawled on the floor, without her having been there to get him help.

No longer groggy, she reached for the closest thing at hand, Daniel's black velvet robe, and swiftly shrugged it on. She'd had practice. She considered fumbling around for her puppy slippers but neglected the idea at the thought of Daniel's potentially stiff corpse growing stiffer by the second somewhere.

Stepping gingerly over their discarded clothes from the night before (_whoa_) and noting the condom wrappers with some relief (_thank God we remembered this time_), she padded down the hallway.

Daniel was sitting at the table shirtless, even though it was, by Betty's estimation, 60 degrees Fahrenheit--at most--in the loft. Her laptop cast a blue techno-glow over his face, and with his black-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and his hair mussed, he could've passed for a computer geek. Betty smiled at the illusion. Computer geek Daniel was not, although he could Photoshop like no one's business, and he wasn't reduced to rabid foaming of the mouth over Excel…

Hearing her giggle, he cut her a perfunctory glance, his eyelids heavy and his gaze oh-so-blue, before returning back to the screen. There were dark circles under his eyes that made him look even more like a lost little boy than he usually did.

Betty wrapped her arms around his waist, rubbing her chilly fingers up and down his sides, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Whatcha up to, mister?" she whispered, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below his ear.

There was the hooded gaze again, this time accompanied by that little half-smirk that had driven many a formerly self-respecting woman right out of her panties.

"Surfing porn."

Betty snorted. He was clearly just checking his emails.

"Yeah, well, you'll be surfing the nearest Circuit City if you get a virus on my laptop." Betty smoothed the forelock of brunette silk out of his eyes. "You gonna tell me why you're awake after our extracurricular activities? 'Cause I feel like I've been slipped a roofie, personally."

Daniel took the compliment of his sexual prowess gracefully, as always. "You _know_ it," he said smugly, as he shut down the laptop.

He stood up and stretched. Showmanship. If he hoped to distract her with a face-full of washboard abs, it wasn't gonna…okay, it was working, but she knew a dodge when she saw one.

He shuffled over to the fridge and rummaged around in the freezer for the ice cream. He stood there staring at Ben & Jerry's vehement denial of the bovine growth hormone for a second before saying, "I take it all back."

Betty, still not firing on all cylinders, thought he was still reading the label on the back of the ice cream. "Take what all back?"

"You're not fired anymore." Daniel, resolute and suddenly chipper, shoved the ice cream back into the freezer suddenly, ignoring Betty's outstretched arms and plaintive whine.

She tilted her head. "Explain-y, por favor."

Daniel hopped up on to the stool in front of her and took both her hands in his. "All that I said about accepting Perdon's offer, it was all bullshit! I was just kidding! Oh, I _so_ had you going. You can come back to _Mode_! You can have any job you want, hell, you can have _my_ job…"

Betty put a finger to his lips, feeling her heart constrict at the raw flare of panic that lurked behind the perky façade and those blue irises. "Daniel."

He closed his eyes tightly, and the small grin that molded his lips was humorless. How did it come to be, he wondered, that he'd gotten so wrapped up in a small woman from Queens about a decade his junior, to the point where he didn't even know where his soul ended and hers began anymore?

Betty, for her part, was reminded that, for all Daniel's worldliness, they had started working at _Mode_ on the exact same day, at the exact same time. Theirs was a journey that they'd started together, and now, at least professionally, it was about to end.

She didn't even notice the moisture on her cheeks until he reached out and smudged away a tear with a forefinger.

When she made the sudden, impulsive leap from her stool onto his lap, he caught her easily. "Okay, so we'll look at it this way," she sighed. "This is the next step for us. We're still a team…just a different kind of team." She threaded her fingers through his. "It's still going to be us against the world," she said wryly, thinking of the media blitz, Wilhelmina and Marc, the haters, the naysayers, maybe even Travis Perdon.

Daniel pillowed his head on her breasts. "Yeah. But I'll miss you tomorrow."

Betty kissed his soft crown. "Lunch, then? Baby steps, you know."

"Hmmm. Baby steps."

Realizing he was falling asleep with his face nuzzled in her cleavage and her legs wrapped around his waist (not for the first time, but now they were balancing precariously on a stool), Betty shook him lightly. "Speaking of which, let's take some not-so-baby steps back to bed. I still have two hours to love on you before I have to get up."

A muffled "mmmmf" was the only reply.

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Betty fidgeted with her "B" necklace and resisted the urge to use her briefcase as a shield, although she was briefly dazzled at the thought of having a job that actually required a briefcase now. Fancy.

_Atlantic Attire is not a fashion magazine_, she silently chanted to herself. Clothing- oriented, of course, but the lack of sneering, freakishly tall, pantyless cokeheads so far was decidedly refreshing.

_And I'm sure the receptionist waiting to greet me as those elevator doors open will be nice and normal-looking and won't ask me if I'm the "before"…_

Betty had to admit that she was doing a fairly good job of blending in so far, and not in the delusional "Someone told me ponchos are back in style so I'll wear a bright red one from Guadalajara" kind of way. Her red, silky, tastefully scoop-necked blouse with its odd little pattern looked youthfully quirky and her cream-colored pencil skirt was short enough not to be spinsterly but long enough not to scream "Jump me, Perdon!"

At any rate, she was glad she'd talked Daniel down from that thick, fuzzy blue turtleneck and Amish floor-length skirt he'd been jonesing for this morning—in the middle of August, no less.

The doors opened with a cheery _ping_, and Betty stepped out into her new world.

Atlantic Attire was as nasty clean as _Mode_—she could smell the Pinesol—but without the anemic, brittle, airtight quality. The mahogany panels on the walls gleamed in a deliberate throwback to the seventies. It was one of those "'old' is the new 'new'" things, apparently.

She gave an uncertain smile to the receptionist as she walked by, and the full-cheeked young woman gave her a mild one in return. Betty was fairly certain she could find her own office by herself, or at the very least, Travis would fall all over himself to be of assistance.

His office was at the end of the left corridor. He was bent over some sketches when she hesitantly appeared in the doorway. She knocked softly. He straightened immediately and fastened her with the same hot, bright, interested gaze that he always did.

"Betty," he grinned, perfect white teeth flashing. He reminded her of Becks, actually, which did little to ease her discomfort at being near such a virile creature. At least Daniel had been considerate enough to avoid her like a case of gonorrhea on her first day at _Mode_.

"Mr. Perdon." She delicately proffered a hand to shake, all-business, but he quirked an eyebrow at her and encompassed her into a hug. "Oh, come now, Betty—we're old friends…and please call me 'Travis.'" As Betty imagined Daniel flipping the hell out, she mused that Travis was truly a master of his craft. He and Daniel would've been great friends under different circumstances.

Because the hug, while it lasted a fraction of a second too long, was really above reproach. No wandering hands, no overt squeezing…and his eyes, when she'd looked back up into them, were open and friendly. But the kicker—something she was only now starting to realize and that Daniel still hadn't—was that had he outright molested her, she couldn't have done much. Atlantic Attire was far and away _Mode_'s most important advertiser, even more so than Fabia's Cosmetics.

Hypothetically, if she complained to Daniel, either Daniel would drop Atlantic Attire in retaliation (it wouldn't be the first time, and he still did things like that) or Travis, offended, would pull his advertising from _Mode_ and give his business to a magazine on more solid financial ground than _Mode _currently was. Either way, her life was going to be a living hell. _Mode_ couldn't survive another shake-up, what with Wilhelmina's machinations and Alexis's tyranny and Bradford's death.

Still, she was having a hard time out-and-out disliking the man. He gazed—that's right, _gazed_—at her as if she was the most interesting thing in the universe, the focal point around which everything else was only secondary. Betty was still baffled by this. Inwardly, she was still reeling that Daniel had _grown_ to love her in that way, and that had been kind of inevitable—much less Perdon, whose eyes had slid over her appraisingly the first time he'd met her and liked what he saw.

"Travis, I look forward to working with you," Betty said politely and more than a little stiltedly. "If you wouldn't mind telling me where my office is…"

"But of course. Where are my manners?" He took her briefcase in one hand and gently but forcibly entwined her arm through his, pulling her body close until their hips lightly touched. Once again, it wasn't even overt enough to justify slapping him in an indignant little feminine huff. She envisioned Daniel flipping the hell out once again.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"Looks like we'll have to," Betty muttered under her breath. Under his questioning gaze downward, she grinned brightly and painfully up at him as they strode into the hall.

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Betty was eager to get to _Mode_ during her lunch break for a number of reasons.

She wanted to smooch on her fiancé desperately, for one thing. She also wanted to bitch to him that she still had only the vaguest idea of what her job actually entailed, other than Travis sticking his head in the door every ten minutes and saying, "Have a look at this layout, will you?" Thirdly, Daniel had been sending her "accidental" pictures of girls' butts and breasts all morning. These were accompanied by equally maddening dopey texts: _here's the second one I interviewed…oops, meant to get her face...yep my assistant search is coming along great xD _

_--love D_

He was intentionally baiting her. And, boy, was she ever biting. She was going to march right into that stupid white and orange office with all his stupid phallic statuettes and push him back on his stupid white couch and just nibble on him for an hour.

She almost winced at the starkness of the place after being at Atlantic Attire's warm earth-toned environs. But it was a good kind of wince, the best kind of wince.

Amanda was right where she'd left her…at the circular desk, preening into the mirror in her compact. Betty felt a small, weird burst of happiness at seeing her, and was sort of surprised to see a reciprocal feeling in Amanda's sea-green eyes as she walked by.

_Wait for it, wait for it…_ "Well, if it isn't the face that launched a thousand pukes. Is Perdon a good kisser?"

Betty glanced back over her shoulder. "I wouldn't know. Ask Marc."

Betty approached her former desk with a sense of trepidation. She didn't know whose rubber bum had been parked in _her_ seat, but…

As she rounded the corner, her eyes met the mild blue-grey ones of a lady in her mid-forties. Her honey-blonde hair was streaked with grey and was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She was very attractive and obviously confident, but not cougarishly so. She sat in Betty's chair glancing through files but immediately stood up with a swift, forceful grace. She towered at least a foot over Betty, as most people did, but she wasn't obnoxious about it. Betty doubted that the woman had ever been obnoxious about anything in her entire life. The two smiled at each other in immediate liking.

"Oh, you must be the famous Betty," she said, genuinely interested. "I'm Hannah—Daniel's new assistant. It appears I have a lot to live up to here."

Betty laughed. "Infamous, more like. It's lovely to meet you, Hannah." And it was. It was a relief, too. But Betty figured it would be inappropriate to add, "I'm ever so glad you're not a fiancé-stealing, home-wrecking ho-beast."

"How's the first day so far?" Betty inquired. "Daniel's not being tiresome, is he?"

Hannah glanced down helplessly at all the blinking lights on her phone. "No. But it's been busy and overwhelming compared to the tiny firm where I used to work."

Betty waggled a finger at her. "Don't complain until he makes you wear red hot-pants."

Hannah looked alarmed and Betty held up both hands. "I'm kidding. I was a special case."

Hannah glanced toward Daniel's office with a quizzical smile. "He seems very kind. At first I was kind of intimidated, though, because he's so…," Hannah made an elaborate show of fanning herself. "Let's just say you're a very envied woman around these parts."

Betty shrugged and blushed, playing with the engagement ring on her finger, and then looked back up at Hannah with a conspiring wink. "If I'm to be completely candid, I felt the same way when I first saw him…I mean, really. And he heard me before he ever saw me—I ran straight into the glass partition of the conference room. I'm sure you've heard the stories. Anyway, please don't be intimidated by him. Take away the power suit and the five hundred dollar haircut and the purple tie and you've got a big, sweet goofball." Betty straightened with a smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go kill him. I'm sure you've felt the urge already."

Hannah fluidly sat back down. "Only twice, so far."

"Hey, you're doing better than I did…around this time on my first day, I was picking gum off his shoes and contemplating selling his organs on the black market. I'll be seeing you, Hannah."

Hannah lifted a long-fingered, elegant hand in farewell, but was already diving back into the file cabinet, the phone cradled in between her shoulder and ear. "Daniel Meade's office, Hannah Mortimer speaking…"

Betty found Daniel leaning back in his butt-cradling chair, his shoeless feet propped up on his desk, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and arms crossed in front of him. He knew good and well that his blue pinstripe shirt illuminated his remarkable blue eyes that shone like sunlight through cerulean glass. He also knew that when he crossed his arms in such away, the muscles of his chest and arms seemed ready to bulge right out of his clothes.

Betty mused once again how she ever could have left the office on lunch dates with Henry, Gio, or Jesse back in the day. _Nice-looking guys, all of them, but_…she gave Daniel another good long stare…_DAMN._

She had to pretend to be mad at him, though. She crossed her arms, mimicking his cocky pose, and stood there with an expectant look on her face.

Daniel broke into a grin and then it disappeared as soon as it had come. He raised an eyebrow at her and nodded almost imperceptibly towards Hannah. "What, you don't like her?"

Betty began to slink towards him slowly. Although she was still no professional sex kitten, she'd picked up a few things over the years…like how to make her full hips sway just enough to drive Daniel slowly insane. "No, I love her. If I weren't strictly dickly, I'd totally drive her out to California and marry her in your place, because God knows she's easier to get along with."

She reached Daniel's desk and proceeded to climb on top of it. "What I want to know," she said, tossing her long black mane coyly, "is why I currently have pictures of Barbie's Plastic Dream Boobs ™ on my cell."

Daniel gave her a little half-smirk and reached out his arms to her. "Well, see, it's like this…I was trying to take a picture of that fern over there because I know how much you love ferns, but every time I did, dammit, another model was blocking the way. I swear, you can't move two inches in here without bumping into another model."

"Mmm, indeed." Betty was on his lap now, running her fingers through his hair and listening to his moans of approval as she massaged his scalp. "Sure you didn't just miss me?" she whispered into his ear.

Daniel kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose. The mask was off now, and he was in full lovey-dovey cuddle mode. "Nah, I didn't miss you any, or wonder how you were, or if Perdon's tried anything he needs me to kill him for, or want to do this"…his hands slid up her shirt and his clever fingers had unhooked her bra before she'd even caught on to what he was doing. It was a favorite pastime of his, actually. She'd be at the counter dicing vegetables or something and he'd come up behind her and pop her bra-strap undone on his way to the fridge to get a beer. He was conditioning her, he said, not to wear one at all.

"Daniel!" she squealed. "You do realize that there's a glass wall behind us and in front of us, right? Stop it!"

"Make me."

"Fine, I will." She slid off his lap and glanced downward. "Once the party in your pants dies down, we're going to lunch. Want me to get you some ice?"

Daniel mock-glared at her. "Cocktease."

Unperturbed, Betty tried to drag him up out of his chair. "Pervert."

Daniel stood suddenly in one swift motion and caused her to topple over backwards. Luckily, he was there to put a steadying arm behind her back. "Now where did you ever get that idea?"

With grudging effort, Betty once again slapped away his wandering hands. "It's just a rumor that's been going around. Now what are you in the mood for?" At his devilish smirk, she hastily added, "…food-wise."

Daniel's eyes raked her figure. "Mexican."

Betty pounced.

When Hannah looked up from her computer and saw her boss and his fiancé tussling like a couple of horny teenagers, she figured that now would be as good a time as any to install that curtain in Daniel's office.

**We're getting to the juicy stuff, I promise. I don't really have an outline or a plan when I write these things, plot-heavy stories really aren't my forte. But I do know where it's headed for the next chapter, which I will update as soon as I can. School's nuts :P**


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